Run as the Rains Come
by jojospn
Summary: SPOILERS for 9x23 Title taken from Mumford and Sons, "After the Storm". All rights reserved, no copyright infringement intended. Cas finally learns of Dean's death, and struggles to cope with his grief. Not intended as Destiel, but if you squint you may find it.


**A/N: MAJOR SPOILERS for the season 9 finale. Be forewarned. Wow, this finale has been quite an inspiration to my muse! This is Cas' reaction following Dean's death (before learning of his subsequent transformation to a demon). Not intended to be Destiel, but no worries if interpreted as such. DISCLAIMER: I don't own **_**Supernatural.**_** Sigh.**

**Run as the Rains Come**

_**And now I cling to what I knew**_

_**I saw exactly what was true**_

_**But oh, no more.**_

_**That's why I hold,**_

_**That's why I hold with all I have.**_

_**-Mumford and Sons, "After the Storm"**_

I am an Angel of the Lord.

My grace is borrowed, fading fast. I have been human before, and could very well be so again. And I clearly remember the whirlwind of emotions I had experienced during those months after the fall. The taste of peanut butter on my tongue, blending perfectly with the sweetness of grape jelly; the horrible pangs of hunger, the heaviness beneath my eyes as my strange, new body tried to warn me of impending exhaustion. I felt the warm touch of a woman, and the ecstasy of intimacy. And I had felt love.

And now, even though I am once again an angel, while I have lost some of those human qualities I had grown to accept, and perhaps enjoy, there is one which remains. One I had not even experienced during my brief adventures in mortality. Grief is an emotion I had been blissfully spared. Perhaps it may seem callous, heartless. I have witnessed the destruction of humanity, death, despair. A family grieving the loss of a stillborn child, or a family caught in the midst of poverty, struggling to remain afloat. Even the most beautiful of days, cloudless and with a the brilliant rays of the sun shining down, are often followed by the torrential downpours.

I don't understand grief. It is all new to me, all encompassing, and I feel I can't breathe. When Metatron stood before me, gleefully informing me of Dean Winchester's death, I felt the world stand still for the briefest of moments. An ache in my chest I can't explain, and could never begin to understand. Numbness, and then pain. But I cannot cry. For before me Heaven's former scribe stands, eyes filled with hate and a malicious smirk. And before I know it, I find myself handcuffed to a chair, helpless. But I have no fear. The plan I have concocted to (at least hopefully) put an end to this madness. Should all go as smoothly as I hope, Metatron will soon broadcast his schemes over the frequencies of what Dean had once called "angel radio", his coup ironically caused by his impregnating my mind with knowledge. I could not allow myself the luxury to grieve in the chaos which stands before me.

But now, it is quiet. I sit on an ancient looking wooden bench, in what looks to be Central Park in New York. In the distance, a rumble of thunder echoes in the north, heavy clouds soon blanketing what was once a clear sky, blue as a robin's egg. In moments, there will be a downpour. I want to run, to hide from this despair which overwhelms me, like the torrential rains which are about to fall. And yet, I cannot. Sam grieves for his brother, just as I do. He needs me, someone to keep him steady, grounded as he prepares to concoct some sort of plot to bring Dean back. I don't want him to. Sam is my friend, too, and his death would be grieved heavily as well.

I close my eyes, still dry, and I feel another stab of agony as I realize that I cannot shed a tear for my friend. I have gained certain human emotions, but even the faintest hint of grace within me keeps me from the luxury of weeping. I want to cry; I have heard that doing so helps the ache hurt less. Am I doomed to remain like this? Caught between the agony of grief, and yet unable to indulge in the comfort of tears? My god...

The first drops fall, and yet I remain frozen in place. Within minutes I am drenched; but I don't care. I cannot face Sam yet, even though I know how much he needs me. I need to be alone, with my thoughts, prayers... I need to grieve. For when I return to Sam Winchester, I will need to be the warrior the angels so desperately wish me to be. I do wish to only be an angel, and to let the responsibility fall on someone else's shoulders. But Metatron was right about one thing. All I do is for Dean Winchester and his family. He may be gone, but his brother lives on. And he needs someone with the strength to continue the fight.

With a sigh, I rise from the bench, close my eyes.

I can hear, in the distance, a faint prayer.

_Please, Cas. I need you._

It's time to be the strong one. Closing my eyes, I draw a deep breath.

Whether I wish to or not, it's time for me to run in the rain.


End file.
